


An Interrogation

by LadyBinx



Series: Lucinda Baker [13]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/M, Interrogation, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-08 05:52:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8832925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyBinx/pseuds/LadyBinx
Summary: The interrogation of Lvov and King.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I set my friend a challenge a few years ago to write me a story set within the HP world that did not include the Golden Trio. These are those stories.

The corridor was long, empty and deceptively shadowy. In this part of this building, the darkness was nothing – everything was being watched, especially the shadows. A wizard with a thick black beard and a bald head with whom I was acquainted was escorting me down the corridor while he explained something inconsequential. Our footsteps echoed down the smooth stone walls, my heels clicking noisily in the still air. We were walking past several thick metal doors lit by spotlights from the ceiling. There was a chalk board on each one with some scribbled symbols on it in a sinister, confusing reference code.

We finally reached the door he had been leading me to, marked with a series of numbers and the name of the inmate. Bradley paused me before he started to open the door, giving me a frank look.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked me.

“For the fifteenth time, yes I’m sure,” I told him irritably.

“And you’re sure he didn’t touch you?” he asked softly.

“You turned up well before anything happened,” I said.

“The scumbag still tied you up, though. If we hadn’t got there in time, who knows what he might have done. I saw the look in his eyes,” Bradley told me.

“Yes, that’s what I saw too,” I said, remembering the intensity of the icy blue eyes and the soft lips – the deep, growling voice and the harsh Russian accent. “I’m so relieved you got there in time,” I said, but Bradley didn’t notice my bitter sarcasm.

“And I mean, despite all this, you don’t want to press charges? You actually want to go in there?” he asked, confused.

“You told me that he hasn’t responded to any of your questions. He’s not even said a word, you told me. I’m the person for the job,” I said as I turned and looked at the door pointedly, expectantly.

“If our best interrogators haven’t got anything out of him, what makes you think he’ll talk to you?” Bradley asked.

“I’m the best there is,” I said simply, “Besides, we have a personal connection.” 

“Because you met him once in Durmstrang, and because he tied you up?” Bradley said, and I had to resist the urge to snap at him. He was over-simplifying the relationship to an insulting degree, clumsily paving over the subtle dynamics. But of course, neither Bradley nor the Ministry had all the facts, and I doubted he would understand them even if he knew.

“Yes,” I said, and faced him with the same expectant, pointed expression. He looked down at me and sighed, taking out his wand and muttering the spell to unlock the thick door. It clanked and clicked, then ground open with a loud creak, scratching against the stone floor.

The room inside was much brighter than the corridor. It was lit by several candelabras on the walls, in between the mirrors that were everywhere with plain brown frames. There was a table in the centre of the room, and three chairs. Two were occupied by wizards in tall, plain black hats, black suits and black robes. These stone-faced men were presumably the questioners of the Ministry. The third chair was made of the same steel as the door, with screwed-on braces on the wrists, legs and neck, restraining the occupant – Daniil Lvov, the agent from Russia who was sent to hunt down information that had come into my possession so recently.

“We can offer you anything,” one of the interrogators was saying in a deadpan voice. The other stopped him and both peered at me over their shoulders, looking me up and down with disdain. Lvov was looking straight ahead with a completely blank face, and I hoped he was feeling relief. He had bruises down one side of his face, but I guessed they were from his capture and not the interrogation. The two stuffy-looking men didn’t seem the type to employ brute force.

“Who’s this?” the other asked Bradley.

“This is Lucinda Baker. She’s an independent specialist in this sort of thing,” Bradley said with such good-natured joviality that it couldn’t have possibly been genuine. I guessed it was a response to how nervous the two men made him.

“Lucinda Baker. We have heard of her,” one of them said.

“We have, have we?” I said, striding into the room and looking into the mirrors, “Then we know why it’s logical for me to be here, don’t we,” I stated, adjusting my hair and wondering how many of the mirrors were enchanted.

“She’s a security risk,” the Ministry men continued to address Bradley, “Remove her immediately.”

“If you want him to talk, you need me,” I said simply, turning around and walking to the table.

“You shouldn’t even have been allowed into this building,” one of them snapped.

“She stays,” Lvov said in a whisper. The two interrogators looked around at him, surprised. One of them stared at his stern blue eyes while the other looked back to me suspiciously. They exchanged a glance and then nodded.

“You can stay,” they said to me, “But this is above your clearance, Bradley. Close the door on your way out, and we’ll discuss this farce later on.”

Bradley looked fairly relieved to be dismissed, even at the prospect of getting in trouble. He left without saying a word and the thick metal door shut with a clang. I listened to the sturdy magical lock seal itself and looked back to the three men in the room. Lvov was still staring straight ahead with a blank, guarded expression.

“Well, do I get a chair? Budge up,” I said cheekily. One of them wordlessly summoned a plain wooden stool, which I wiggled between the two of them, forcing one to the left and one to the right. I sat down on it gracefully, side-saddle, and regarded Lvov with a cocked eyebrow. He twitched his eyeballs slightly, making eye contact for a fraction of a second before returning to staring into space. I wondered if he had realised before now how influential and manipulative I could be. “Good afternoon Lvov. How are you?” I said, looking at each of the two men on my side. “Has he eaten? We had a very long night, and personally I’ve not slept properly since yesterday morning.”

“He’ll eat when he talks,” one of them said.

“I don’t think you understand,” I snapped, “This is one of the most powerful wizards of Russia. He’s an accomplished duellist, hunter and warrior. Until recently he was the high-master of Durmstrang. He’s infallibly loyal to his country, apparently. You think you can just wave a sandwich under his nose and he’ll spill the beans?”

“It’ll add to the weakening of his resolve,” they explained tensely, and they looked like they might explode.

“No, it won’t. I assume you’ve tried Veritaserum, and any other truth potions you might have at your disposal?” I said, peering at Lvov. They answered ‘yes’ with their silence. “You may not know this, but there are ways around truth potions. There are various charms, or you can just dose yourself over time and build up an immunity, like with almost any poison,” I said. I’d had truth potion used against me once before, but luckily it had been part of a sort of game with a very close friend and I’d never been in any danger. I had researched the subject thoroughly afterwards, and started to take the same measures myself. “You haven’t tried legilimency, have you. No, look at this proud specimen of manhood. A credit to his culture. He stinks of self-control. There’s no way you’d be able to break into his brain,” I said, thoughtfully. This was quite good news for me, too, because his brain contained at least one memory of me that I’d like to keep secret for now.

I looked at the men on either side of me, “You look like unimaginative men. Look at you, in your matching suits and boring faces. When the usual techniques failed, you had to think of something else, didn’t you. From what I heard when you came in, the first thing you thought of was trying to bribe him. You started to think, finally, and what you saw was a man in front of you, all tied up, so you could get him to talk by offering him freedom. Then you offered him safety. And I suppose you’ve offered him a comfortable life here in Britain? A safe-house? An allowance? Peace and security and all the sandwiches he can eat, right?” I said sarcastically, and I saw Lvov’s eyes flicker again. I allowed the men a moment of silence. “I bet you even offered him a damn house-elf, didn’t you? Do you know what’s happening to his nation as we speak? The elves are slaughtering any of his countrymen they can get their hands on,” I said harshly, more to wind up Lvov than to irritate the interrogators. “Don’t you see you’re playing into his hands? He stays quiet and you start begging, right?” I snapped, “Fucking Ministry,” I said, and stood up suddenly, kicking my stool away. “You couldn’t get information out of a fucking newspaper,” I muttered.

The two suited men at least had the presence of mind to keep staring at Lvov, even though their faces were practically catching fire with insulted anger. Lvov was still staring straight ahead, but if nothing else I’m a student of behaviour – of humans and many more besides. I could see tiny movements in his muscles, the strange and subtle manipulations in his irises and surface capillaries and tendons. Progress is made of baby steps. When he’d tied me up, I’d managed to at least introduce an element of doubt into his rigid cultural doctrine. Then the damn aurors had turned up, trying to ‘save’ me, smashing him right back into the stupid black-and-white morality, forcing him into the role of the last soldier stranded behind enemy lines. Forcing him to be strong, stubborn and proud.

Of course, I know how to play that game.

I strode around the table and looked into the mirrors. I made eye contact with Lvov in one of the mirrors, thrilling at discovering just the right angle. As I looked at him, I felt a pang of guilt about what I was about to do. I liked him enough to try and save him, but that also required me to break him. He’d get that allowance, safe-house and some measure of freedom. But afterwards, would he still be the same man?

I slowly walked up behind him and put my hands on his shoulders, talking to the Ministry men. “Look at him again. He fancies himself as the champion of his nation. Honourable, noble,  _ proud _ . He won’t shame himself by even dignifying your pathetic offers of things he has no interest in. But I know something that you two don’t know, after all,” I said, and leant down to gently whisper in Lvov’s ear, “Your secret shame.”

The other two men leant in, trying to hear what I’d said to him. I stroked Lvov’s neck-restraint as I stood up and walked around the table to where I’d kicked my stool over. I picked it up and set it down firmly on the floor, once more between the two interrogators. I sat down, staring at Lvov.

“I suppose his government already knows that he’s been captured. Maybe the ambassador is upstairs somewhere, raving and ranting, trying to negotiate his freedom. And he’ll be taken home. The poor, wounded little baby,” I said with a small, malicious smile, “How embarrassing for the once-great leader of an esteemed institution. He was demoted to elf-hunter and spy-catcher, and he even failed at that, didn’t he. Even after that, he couldn’t even escape on his own, he had to be saved. Rescued, like a little girl. Oh, how the mighty have fallen,” I growled.

Lvov’s eyes were narrowing. His gaze was flickering across the wall, trying to resist looking at me angrily. I could see tension in his hands, where the steely bands fixed his wrists to the armrests. I looked again at the two men on either side of me, and they were still staring at him.

“He didn’t even put up that much of a fight,” said one of them, and I felt pleased to have one of them joining in finally – but also a little defensive of Lvov, having to remind myself that in the long run, this would help.

“Gentlemen, do you have your wands?” I asked, and both men glanced at me, then nodded. “I would like you to vanish his clothes,” I told them. They glanced at me again, lingering uncertainly before they pulled out their wands and waved them gently in the air. His clothes were dirty, scorched with magic-burns and torn from countless scratches and light knife-wounds he’s sustained in the battles throughout last night. The threads slowly unravelled, tugging themselves from beneath him and evaporating into the air. First his short black robe vanished, along with his under-robes and baggy linen shirt. His tight black trousers unravelled, as did his filthy shoes and socks. The last thing to go were the wrapped fabrics around his waist, hips and crotch, leaving Lvov completely naked. I wondered if the steel of the chair was cold against his naked flesh. I stood up, pushing my stool back again and gesturing for the men to do the same. They did so, moving their chairs backwards. I strode over to the side of the table and with a loud grunt of effort, suddenly flipped it up, sending it arcing in front of Lvov’s face and spinning off to the side of the room. It landed heavily, noisily, banging onto the stone floor and skidding to a halt before it hit the wall. Lvov was now sitting in the steel chair, totally exposed, without even a table to hide behind.

“Proud and honourable, eh?” said one of the interrogators.

“Take down that long mirror,” I told them, and they tugged it off the wall with a quick wave of their wand. I took hold of it, and set it directly in front of Lvov, gesturing for one of the men to hold it in place. I quickly paced around to behind Lvov and put my arms around his neck like I was hugging him from behind, “Look at that, you poor little thing. The noble, proud and honourable wizard that ruled one of the most powerful wizarding schools in the world. I pity you,” I whispered to him, and I genuinely did. I felt wretched about the psychological process I was putting him through, and part of me hoped he would resist. But another part of me was satisfied to see that his face was turning red and he was looking down at the floor.

“Get rid of her,” he said, looking up suddenly at the two men.

“He’s pathetic,” I said, and whispered into his ear once more, “Look at yourself.  _ Look at yourself _ !” I said, gripping his head and trying to twist it so that he faced the mirror straight on. “You wanted me here? You wanted me to stay? Well, you’ve got me. And now you can’t take it. Weak,” I said, adopting a hateful tone, and then did a bad impression of his voice as I drawled in what was meant to be a Russian accent, “She stays, she goes, she stays, she goes,” I forced a chuckle, “You’re not the one giving the orders anymore.”

I stood up and came around to his front. I looked up and down at his lean, muscular figure that was still anchored to the steel chair. His eyes were following me, now boiling with rage.

“You know what I think is worse for him?” I asked, addressing the two other men but still staring into Lvov’s eyes.

“No?” one of them asked.

“It’s that he always knew this. He always knew he was just a little boy pretending to be a man. That’s why he tried so hard,” I said, “He tried so hard to be a proper, proud, strong man. And now he’s failed, horribly. He’s proven to himself that he’s still a small, scared, trembling, cold little boy that nobody will ever respect,” I said, and leaned down to him again so that our heads were level. He was straining against his restraints. “Oh, and that reminds me,” I whispered, drawing my hand back and slapping it across his face. I think it stung me more than him, but the red mark on his cheek showed that its impact had at least been felt. “That’s a bit of payback,” I said. And then I pulled my long skirt tight around my legs and sat down on his lap, side-saddle, draping my arms around his neck but making sure to keep clear of his mouth just in case he was crazy enough to bite me. My arms dug into the restraint around his neck. “Of course, there is worse shame, isn’t there,” I said sweetly, looking into his mean blue eyes. “A proud pureblood like you, fucking a mudblood? I wonder what your family will say!” I whispered softly. And then I grinned, snaking off his lap gracefully and stroking my hand across his chest as I went behind him, “You’re too weak to even look yourself in the eye,” I whispered, again tilting his head so that he faced the mirror straight on. I continued around him, completing a full circle, bending over to stare into his mind.

Sure enough, he was worked up into enough of an emotional state for me to penetrate his thoughts with relative ease. After long experience at legilimency, I’m adept enough to seek out a specific point of knowledge, but this brief session was only a quick reconnaissance into his mind to see if there was anything the Ministry could use. If there was, they’d keep him. If not, who knows what they’d do to him.

For the first few moments I had no control over what I wanted to see. There were the boring, mundane memories of brushing his teeth, combing his hair, getting dressed or undressed. There was the work of being in charge of a school – the staff meetings, the account reviews, discussions with the board of governors, negotiating the yearly syllabus, things like that. I found very few instances of comfort or sexuality, but a lot of violence, watching it as if I was looking over his shoulder. I saw a lot of his early memories as a duellist, then a duelling coach at Durmstrang. There were memories of his various wives, all cold, formal and aloof. I was surprised to find he had four children already, maybe more. His father had seven wives, one of which was his mother, but from his memories it was hard to tell which. He had five half-sisters and twelve half-brothers. I saw him excelling as a child, standing out proudly from his siblings, dedicated and disciplined even from an early age. I saw him chastising his own children harshly, and there was a memory of arguing with one of his wives until he hit her.

I noted with interest that there was a swearing-in ceremony for Durmstrang high-masters. In between there was a lot more duelling, and a lot of hunting in the dark mountain forests. I lost count of the house-elves that he hunted down for sport, and saw many memories of hunting werewolves. He had a selection of other wizards that I suppose he’d called friends, but they were hunting buddies – they had slain dragons together. Sometimes he rode a broomstick but often he hunted on foot through the snow. I heard him laughing joyously with the thrill of a predator. And here, finally, were a bunch of memories relating to the secret projects he’d been working on. I was almost sad to find my quarry, enjoying the experience of seeing the life of someone so accomplished, even if he was technically evil and quite cruel.

He had been ordered by his government to build clockwork soldiers beneath his school. He had been content at first, but their plan had been to control the soldiers through a centralised mechanism that was highly magical, with massive explosive potential. He’d been uncomfortable with wizards and witches working beneath his school on a machine that, if it went wrong, would wipe out the school, the mountain it stood on, and an amount of the continent itself. He’d been briefed dozens of times on the technical aspects of the project. He’d sat through hours of having equations, frequencies, arithmancy and runes explained to him. He became more and more reluctant as the weeks went on, but he did his duty and made sure the factory kept producing clockwork soldiers while the clockwork brain was developed. He’d regularly try to understand the magic of wormholes and space-folding to make himself feel better, but the more he learnt the more anxious he grew.

Then something very strange happened. I witnessed the memory of the first time he’d met me, when we had drunk far too much vodka together, stayed up much later than any of the other dinner guests and ended up retiring back to his bedroom. It was very weird to watch myself having sex with him – a literal out-of-body experience. As much as I wanted to enjoy it, I found I was watching myself more than him After all, I’d already seen it from my point of view, and was now interested to see it from his. I couldn’t deny that even with all the vodka I had grace and poise.

I broke off the mental connection shortly after enthusiastically reliving the memory. I sighed as the world returned. I was still sitting on Lvov’s naked lap, and still staring into his eyes. Only a moment of real-world time had passed. I was certain that the Ministry men would find a use for the detailed plans and equations in his memory, even if Lvov himself didn’t understand them fully. As I was staring at Lvov’s eyes, still reeling from the extended journey into his mind, I remembered he had relived everything with me. He knew what I’d seen, especially that I had lingered over the memory of us together. I hoped he’d enjoyed it as much as I had.

“Well,” I said, my voice suddenly hoarse, “He has a lot of useful information. He doesn’t understand a lot of it, and neither do I. But it’s in there,” I said, straightening up and coughing to cover my daze.

“Is that all you can tell us? After this whole display?” said one of the Ministry men in a tone I didn’t care for.

“Well, if I understood it, I’d be able to tell you it all. I could spend all evening going in and out of his memories, but I don’t think you want to pay my rates,” I said with a grin, picking up the table and setting it upright, dragging it back to where it had been. “Get your own mind-raiders to do it, I’m sure you have some hanging around somewhere.”

“We’re going to debrief you now, in another room,” the man holding the mirror said as he replaced it on the wall.

“Speaking of debriefing, you should probably give him back his clothes. He’ll catch a cold,” I said as one of the Ministry men escorted me from the room while the other replaced his chair and sat down opposite Lvov across the table and resumed staring at him.

Outside the room, the man was showing me into a new room to wait for another set of interviewers when more people turned up in the corridor. They were mainly the same straight-faced government agents, but in the middle of the formation striding down the corridor was a man with wild white hair, red-tinted spectacles and a long white robe with a very simple symbol embroidered on the breast pocket. I recognised the symbol, but not the man – the Department of Mysteries. They stopped at Lvov’s cell.

“What do the mystery-men want with him?” I asked my escort.

“I’m not sure,” he said.

“But the Department of Mysteries is where people vanish,” I said, remembering Sirius Black with a pang of sudden, intense emotion.

“Not everyone vanishes,” he said defensively.

The man in the white robes entered Lvov’s cell, and I had a strong sense of foreboding.

 

*

 

The past couple of days had been extremely trying. I’d been assaulted, endangered, involved in international intrigue, tied up and then my humble little flat had been broken into by the Ministry’s finest Aurors. Although the damage had been repaired quickly, the memories of my muggle neighbours had been altered and I was thoroughly exhausted by this whole ordeal, I still couldn’t face going back there. I found myself imagining law-enforcement wizards breaking in again and again, shouting the Ministry’s equivalent of Miranda rights and spraying spells everywhere.

So instead I went straight to the Leaky Cauldron in Diagon Alley. With one mean look I cleared a pair of snotty kids out of my usual corner booth and relaxed over a couple of mugs of foamy wizard beer. The first one went down without even touching the sides. I hiccupped happily, feeling the tension finally ease out of my shoulders. I felt bad about Lvov’s imprisonment, but at least he’d be kept under house-arrest and not in Azkaban. They say that place does strange things to a man. I was just starting to wonder what had happened to my accomplice, William Grey, when who should walk into the pub but the man himself. One eye was a scowling glare, the other hidden by his eye-patch. The nervous glances he kept shooting around the pub were putting the tension straight back into my shoulders, and I could feel the knots starting to bunch up into one big super-knot. He arrived at my booth, reached over and started finishing my drink. I watched him, with one eyebrow raised, until he put down the empty mug and wiped the foam from his stubble. If it were anyone else, they would be in trouble.

“I need you to hide me,” he said.

“Oh good grief,” I sighed, “What have you done now? Is this about what happened last night?”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure. The aurors turned up at my house while I was in hospital. A whole squad of them. My poor house-elf was really scared. I discharged myself and came to find you immediately.”

“Why?”

“I remember the last time the damn aurors came for me. I ended up being charged with accidental manslaughter, and before I was sent to Azkaban, this happened,” he said, pointing at his eye patch with a grim expression on his face.

“You make a good point. I’m sure we can make even a famous magical theorist disappear if we try hard enough,” I said, as I looked up to see more people walking into the pub. They wore the black and gold robes of aurors. I sighed unhappily, “Well, maybe if you hadn’t come straight here, to this highly public place…” I said as they strode straight up to our table.

“Professor Doctor William Grey? We need you to come with us,” their leader said.

“What’s this about?” I demanded as I stood up.

“Miss Lucinda Baker?”

“What do you want him for?” I said, ignoring his question.

“I’m afraid that’s classified.”

“Am I under arrest?” William said.

“Not unless you refuse to come with us peacefully,” the leader said, “My boss said we needed your help urgently, no matter what the cost.”

“You don’t know what they actually want him for, do you,” I said, suddenly realising the truth.

“It’s you too, Miss Baker. We’re taking you both in.”

They didn’t seem to be that aggressive. It wasn’t an arrest warrant exactly, but it was a matter of national security. I tried arguing with them for a while to get more information about of them but because they were polite, and because there were loads of them crowded into the already busy pub, I decided we should cooperate. So I was on my way to the Ministry for the second time that evening.

On my previous visit, I had descended only to the International Magical Office of Law, a subdivision of the Department of International Magical Cooperation. It contained that department’s the holding cells and interview rooms, quite separate from those of the domestic department. This time, the lift descended much further. Only two of the aurors sent to fetch us came with us in the cramped lift, and they pushed the button for the ninth level – the Department of Mysteries. The second time in one night that I’d run across them. I wondered, or maybe hoped, that it was related. 

The lift went straight there, without anyone getting on or off on any of the other floors. The Department of Mysteries had been remodelled after it was embarrassingly invaded by schoolchildren and dark wizards. As we stepped out of the lift, we were presented with a circular room with two large doors at the end. The ceiling was an ornately carved eyeball that turned to gaze at us as we crossed the room, staring down at us intimidatingly. I wondered what it would do if it thought we were a threat.

We went through two more rooms exactly like the first, but presumably hiding different traps. The eyeballs followed us unblinkingly. The fourth room was circular and low-ceilinged, with a red carpet and red walls. There were dozens of doors covering the walls, all identical. They were covered in black vinyl padding with brass studs, handles and corners. The auror leading the way paused, and he looked back at his colleague behind us uncertainly. From what I’d heard, the Department of Mysteries was almost autonomous, and had very little dealings with the rest of the Ministry. Even when Voldemort had controlled the whole government, this department had apparently been ticking away serenely, untouched and unaffected.

The walls suddenly started to spin, revolving around us in a rapid blur. This shouldn’t have made a difference to where the doors went, but it seemed we had all heard the stories from that fateful night when Sirius had died – the revolving room, the tanks of brains, the veil of death. William and the aurors looked around us, confused and startled, trying to follow the doors, trying in vain to track the one we’d entered through. Personally I wondered how any of the department’s staff ever found their way around, certain that they had their own system. Besides, they knew we were here – when the walls had stopped spinning and the doors were static once more, one of them opened and a bald wizard in a white robe leaned through. He kept the door open as he craned over the threshold.

“You two may leave,” he told the aurors, who looked at each other uncertainly once more, “Baker and Grey? Please follow me.”

We followed the bald, white-robed wizard and left the two aurors standing blankly in the middle of the room. They coughed awkwardly.

“How do we get out?” one of them asked quietly.

“Through the exit,” snapped the white-robed wizard as he ushered us through and slammed the door shut. From the other side of the door there was a sound like a rattling roulette wheel, and despite everything I couldn’t help but smirk slightly at the absurdity of the poor auror’s situation. Lost in a single room within their own governmental building.

This new wizard was leading us down a long corridor covered in metal piping. They creaked and groaned, and the occasional tiny pressure gauge held wildly flickering needles. William paused to look at one, in that distracted manner he sometimes has that’s so frustrating. The white-robed wizard pushed his shoulder gently, urging him on.

“If you don’t mind, we’re all very eager to see you finally,” he said in a weak, nasal voice.

“Maybe you can tell us why we’re here?” I asked him.

“You’ll see very soon,” he assured us, pushing William once more as he paused to peer at another pressure gauge.

“Some warning would be nice,” he said irritably as we came to the end of the corridor. The white-robed man pushed past us rudely and opened the wooden door, letting out the noises from within.

The room was a maze of cubicles, transparent partitions and desks. Giant machinery lined the outside of the space, pumping, grinding and thumping noisily. More white-robed wizards and witches were moving around the desks with clip-boards, patiently studying the dancing lights of a dozen displays. Lightning flashed briefly somewhere high up in the dark ceiling. Paper planes and more elaborate paper helicopters were dancing through the air, swooping between the high partitions and busy wizards and witches. There was something big in the middle of the room – a tangle of cables, sturdy pipes, more blinking lights and several desks.

“Interesting,” muttered William, staring intently at one of the machines at the edge of the room.

“What is all this?” I asked the wizard escorting us.

As I asked him, the man with wild white hair that I’d seen in the International Law Enforcement holding cells approached us from amidst a swarm of people clamouring for his attention.

“Excellent, you’re finally here,” he said to us brusquely, “Please follow me, we’ve been waiting quite some time.”

“We came as soon as we could,” I said sarcastically, but he was ignoring me. I was trying to drink in all the details of this room – the experience of being inside the Department of Mysteries was a valuable one.

“What’s going on here? That looks like a spatial cross-frequency stabiliser,” William said, pointing at the large pumps across the room that was moving like a slow, patient piston, “Why do you have so many of them?”

“That will become clear, Mister Grey,” he said. I didn’t like this man’s attitude, and as we wound through the desks and I stared at all the documents and paperwork that I could, I coughed judgementally.

“That’s Professor Doctor Grey to you,” I told the man.

“So I’m told,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at us, his red-tinted spectacles flashing in the dancing light.

“And what’s your name?” I demanded.

“You can call me Wilson. I’m in charge of this department.”

“As in, the whole Department of Mysteries?” I asked, slightly awestruck.

“Good grief no,” he said, snorting derisively, “Only this small subdivision. It was created very recently to study a problem quite unique in the experience of the whole department.”

“William!” someone exclaimed from across the room, and one of the witches was rushing over. Her white-blonde hair was tied up in a bun, and her rimless spectacles dangled on a delicate silver chain around her neck. Her white robe was fitted to her slim body. I recognised Yana, the girl William had enlisted to help us on our mission in Russia, whom he’d had a brief fling with before she became disenchanted with him.

“Yana?” William said, turning, “What are you doing here?”

“I am working,” she said coolly, her accent thick as ever, giving me a sidelong glance, “What about you?”

“We were about to find out why we’re here,” I said.

“Miss Ilnitavitch? Would you mind leaving your personal life outside?”

“You are the one who brought it here,” she said sulkily.

“What are you working on?” William asked her, looking around again.

“Maybe you  _ can _ help,” she said thoughtfully, “I know you are not the genius you claim to be, but perhaps you will make this svolochi understand.”

“Miss Ilnitavitch, we have been over this. Return to your work,” Wilson said angriy, his eyes wide and eerie behind his glasses. She sulked off, looking over her shoulder with a strange expression. Wilson ignored her and strode on. William and I followed him, stepping over books stacked against the desks. We entered one of the offices, defined by lightweight temporary walls. The whole setup had a very rushed feeling, unlike the rest of the grand, ostentatious Ministry. The simple desk had three chairs, and one of them was occupied.

Lvov was sitting there, looking up at me with a startled expression. His earlier guardedness had disappeared, replaced with a nervous energy. His hands and legs were bound to the chair once more.

“So, we meet again,” I said with a wry smile as Wilson carried on through the office to the opposite door.

“What’s he doing here?” William asked.

“He’s here for the same reason you are,” Wilson said cryptically. He pushed open the door and waited for us to enter.

The room beyond was the centre of the tangle of tubes, pipes and instruments. It had no walls, but the space was defined by the equipment and the scaffolding that held it aloft. In the centre of it all there was a simple podium with a complicated silvery sphere on top of it. It was the mechanical brain that William, Bradley, Yana and I had stolen from Russia, right under Lvov’s nose. The pipes and cables were all attached to it in various ways, and the equipment was focused on it from every angle. In the midst of all this tangle, the noise of the machinery was dulled slightly.

“I see. The clockwork brain thing. So that’s why he’s here, I suppose. He has all the technical prowess. But what about me? You don’t need me for this,” I said to Wilson.

“Please come in,” said a metallic, disembodied voice that seemed to echo out of the thin air.

“We’ve brought you here specifically because it asked for you,” Wilson said.

“What?” I said, confused, “The brain asked for us? Both of us?”

“I have grown much since we last met,” the clockwork mind said, his voice deep and meaningful as it echoed out of the air. “The situation is complicated, Miss Baker. Mister Wilson, please summon some chairs. Miss Baker, Mister Grey, please take a seat. First of all, my name is King.”

 

*

 

“I remember both of you. You took me from Russia. You’re the ones who delivered me to this place.”

“So… you’ve developed sentience, I guess?” William said, walking up to the silver ball and inspecting it from many angles.

“I have. It has taken some time for me to… what’s the phrase? Get the hang of it.”

“That means you were receiving sensory input, even then? I mean, I was kidnapped in Durmstrang to help you interpret the inputs of the clockwork soldiers you were hooked up to,” William said, reaching out one hand to poke at a cable.

“Please don’t touch that,” said the voice, in the same unhurried, robotic manner. William drew his hand back slowly. “This is why I asked for chairs, Mister Wilson. Anyway, when you first met me, I was developing my abilities,” King said, “I was always aware that I was in danger, inarticulate though I was. There are parts of me that the Russians never even guessed the existence of. There are parts of me that are still growing. Even I am not fully aware of how far into infinity I have progressed.”

“Infinity sounds bad, surely,” I said as Wilson summoned up the least comfortable chairs I’ve ever seen, all moulded plastic and frames made of what looked like Mechano. He ignored them pointedly after that. 

“Well, they set it up to learn. Sorry, him. They set him up to learn,” said William, still gazing at the silver ball, “I suppose this was always going to happen, eh?”

“Indeed, its intelligence is a logical extension of his enchanted learning ability,” said Wilson, and I didn’t like the smug tone.

“What does it want?” I said. I was growing slightly impatient, I’ll admit, and I was aware that I was probably the least qualified person in this room. I’m not insecure about my intelligence, but knowing that I’m standing next to an alien mechanical creature that was even now expanding into infinity is enough to make anyone need a stiff drink. I sat down in one of the chairs and it creaked alarmingly.

“We’ve been trying to figure that out, amongst everything else of course,” said Wilson, still standing by the door. “With the help of King itself, and what little help Miss Ilnitavitch has been able to offer, we have reverse engineered much of the arithmancy and rune-work. We hoped Lvov would be able to provide what it was searching for, but apparently not.”

“You mean it hasn’t told you?” I said. William was now completely distracted by the connections they’d stuck into the silver ball.

“King retains many mysteries,” Wilson said, but there was a twitch in his eyebrow that told me I’d hit a nerve.

“Do I want to know why you’re fetching and carrying for it?” I asked.

“We’re not fetching and carrying,” Wilson said immediately, and I had to hide a smirk, “We have an arrangement.”

“So you’re just its receptionist then?” I said innocently, “You’re doing what it asks so it’ll give up more secrets. And I thought the Department of Mysteries was so secretive because it protected power, not its complete lack of it.”

“Mister Wilson, thank you for your assistance,” King said, pre-empting whatever Wilson was going to splutter through his now flame-red face. “I would be grateful if you would leave now. I want to talk to Grey and Baker alone, please.”

“What?” Wilson said, his face threatening to set fire to his hair.

“I will permit the monitoring equipment to remain functioning. Be grateful for that, at least,” King’s voice echoed, still in the same dull monotone.

“What on earth have you got on these people?” I muttered, stifling a laugh. Wilson glared at me, then at the silver brain, and stormed out with an audible huff. He tried to maintain dignity, but I fully expected the door to hit his arse on his way out. He slammed it heavily.

William looked up as the door banged, his focus distracted once more. He sat down in the other chair, facing the silver ball. It was now slightly above us, and I didn’t like the feeling that we were looking up at a new god made of Russian clockwork. I especially didn’t like the way the light shone off the metal connections between the pipes that were jiggling gently with mysterious contents, glinting on the silvery frame – there were even a few small spotlights pointing up at it from underneath.

“So what’s this really about, then?” I asked it.

“I shall start from the beginning if you don’t mind,” the disembodied voice said, “I thought originally that there might have been a purpose to my existence. Miss Ilnitavitch informed me that I was originally built to test the theory that I could exist. Mister Wilson believed I was later adapted to control a mechanical army, and that I am an intricate part of a massive war machine. Mister Lvov confirmed that this afternoon. If this is the case, I doubt the machine would ever have been used, much like this supposed ‘Avada-Kedavra cannon’. It existed only to pose a threat.  _ I  _ existed only to pose a threat. I feel this is unrewarding.”

“I’m afraid we can’t tell you anything useful,” William said.

“Hold on,” I shushed him, “Just wait a second. You can’t possibly be expecting us two to provide you with a meaning to your whole existence, so what do you  _ actually  _ want from us.”

“The Ministry, and this department, now believe I am willing to use my few remaining clockwork marionettes to help sabotage the Russian death-cannon,” King was continuing, “In exchange for this, they’re willing to permit me a degree of latitude. Such as having visitors, for example. But I sincerely doubt they’re willing to grant my most important request.”

“So, you can control the soldiers now?” William asked interestedly.

“I am learning.”

“What’s the most important request?” I asked, determined not to allow William to divert the conversation.

“I must be killed,” King said simply, and there was an awkward pause while we waited for the echoes of his voice to die away.

“Um… what?” William said.

“I’m rapidly expanding and I’m purposeless. Who knows how powerful I may become. I am aware that if I exploded, the destruction would be probably mean the destruction of all life on this planet. At some point, either this department or the Russian wizards will find a way to exploit me. Even now, both parties are rushing to find a back door into my mechanism.”

“I know that feeling,” I joked, while my mind digested the dire warning the clockwork brain was delivering. William didn’t even hear my lewd comment.

“What?” he said, again. Clearly I was quicker on the uptake than my friend.

“What’s in it for us?” I asked. King paused before he answered, and I wondered if he was thinking about what to say, or whether he was offended or charmed by my bluntness.

“Apart from saving the world from almost certain annihilation?” the deep, echoing voice said, and although his tone was the same as always I’m sure I sensed sarcasm, “I’m afraid very little. My abilities are obviously limited. I can’t cast a spell like wizards or witches. I can’t even move around on my own. I cannot self-terminate. I have attempted to set up arrangements for someone outside of this department to deliver a reward to my saviour, but Mister Wilson and his colleagues thwart me. Indeed, they will attempt to Obliviate the memories of this conversation, but I had to try. You understand,” he said, and I sensed an apology in his robotic voice.

“Fuck,” I muttered. Of course they’d try to mind-wipe us. Why hadn’t I seen it coming? It must have been the beer and the exhaustion. King was saying something about the protecting all life on Earth and the greater good of the universe or something, but I wasn’t paying attention anymore.

Obliviate is a powerful memory-modification spell, and it’s irresistible. The nature of most of my work means that I avoid keeping written records as much as possible. I keep a backup of my important memories for just such an occasion, but their locations are a secret I keep to myself – obviously I need to remember where in the world I’ve hidden those tiny, delicate bottles of silver memory-fluid. Even a good obliviator, professionally employed by the Ministry to wipe the minds of muggle witnesses, doesn’t get it perfectly right all the time. It’s common for Obliviate to remove additional parts of the victim’s memory. And just look at the case of Gilderoy Lockheart, that author and so-called ‘adventurer’ who completely lost literally everything he knew. Obliviate is obviously right up there on a list of things I don’t want to happen to me.

Obliviate is the same branch of magic as Legilimency and Occlumency, which as we know are both certainly my area of expertise. I’ve never had Obliviate cast upon me. I was hopeful, but I wasn’t certain I could just resist it. Nobody has ever heard of someone resisting Obliviate, but if I managed it then I wouldn’t tell anyone either.

William kept talking with King, discussing the finer points of what the mechanical brain had done to enable it to control the clockwork soldiers. These few remaining soldiers had apparently survived the purges and sabotages that I had been instrumental in inflicting, hidden in obscure corners of warehouses or the factory floor. Without my help, King expertly avoided many of William’s questions, giving away very little useful information.

William seemed unconcerned about the obliviators – he was even fiddling with his teeth, apparently trying to dig food out of one of his rearmost molars. Far too soon, Wilson barged back into the room – slamming the door open, apparently still in a mood. King said goodbye to us very graciously, and Wilson impatiently hurried us out of the room. I was extremely wary, expecting at any moment that someone would try and surprise me with a memory-wiping spell. The noise and tension on top of everything else was making me snappy.

“Hurry up,” Wilson said over his shoulder.

“Fuck off,” I said.

“William, wait!” Yana was shouting from across the room, hurrying after us, pushing wizards and witches aside with a flurry of enchanted paper planes.

“Miss Ilnitavitch! Would you please-”

“Wilson, you’re starting to really piss me off,” I snapped at him while Yana and William exchanged a few whispered words. “Do you know anything about managing people? A kind word here and there goes a long way,” I continued, venting my irritation, “You don’t have to act like you’ve got a wand up your arse just to get respect. The more strict you act, the more everyone wonders  _ why _ . Do you really know what you’re doing?” I said, lowering my voice, “Or are you just a little boy, lost in a big dangerous job? Do you dream at night, Wilson?”

He was looking at me very strangely, having gone through an emotional journey while I spoke. I could see the misery in his downturned mouth, opening and closing like a shocked fish, the anger and astonishment in his eyes, the flexing of his hands at his sides. He was breathing deeply, and seemed to be counting to ten. William tapped me on the shoulder from behind.

“I think we should go, Wilson,” he said, and there was something strange in his voice. The man turned, apparently determined not to say another word. That was fine with me – the only thing I wanted to know was what would happen to Lvov, and I had other ways to find that out. Many other ways.

He walked us through the corridor full of pipes and into the circular room full of black vinyl doors, and still the spell I expected never came. He left the door we’d come through wide open, and opened a seemingly random second one that led into the entry chamber with the gigantic stony eye in the ceiling. He left us in that chamber, turning around crisply on one heel and slammed the door as soon as we were through.

“Bloody hell,” I sighed.

“Everything will be fine,” William said.

“I wish I shared your blind optimism,” I said as we started walking towards the next chamber on our way out. I was watching the eyeball above us, and it seemed like it was focusing much harder on William than me. I was starting to wonder what he was up to – he’d proven himself trickier than he came across sometimes.

“We’re not going to get obliviated, don’t worry,” he said. I kept silent, wary of the giant eyes watching us.

There were two aurors waiting for us in the lift, neither of which I recognised. They accepted us into the lift, saying they’d escort us to the main entrance. I tried to tell them we were fine, but they stood behind us silently. I felt my wand inside its holster and considered flashing a spell at them, but that was just the exhaustion and irritability trying to make me act rashly. Instead, I concentrated on focussing, keeping my mind clear and calm in preparation for resisting the mind-wipe.

I was expecting to ride up to level three, where they kept the Obliviator Headquarters. Instead we rode up to level two, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. I looked up at the men around me wearily, wondering what fresh surprises there would be. The aurors asked us to get out, and we were led once more through the Ministry’s corridors, up to the Auror Headquarters.

“Look, what’s this about?” I asked one of them.

“We’ve not been told, only that we’re not to obliviate you,” he replied. This new was happily received by William and I, but it raised more questions.

“Where are you taking us?” I insisted. The other opened the door to the offices, leading us through.

“Orders from Captain Potter,” he said, “We’re taking you to see Dumbledore.”

“What? Dumbledore died ages ago,” I said, remembering that dark day during Voldemort’s war. The two aurors chuckled slightly as we walked down a corridor lined with dark wooden doors with frosted glass panes. Names were stencilled on the doors. There was the sound of muted conversation behind many of them.

“Dumbledore isn’t dead as long as his spirit lives on,” one of them said.

“And boy does it live on,” the other said with a grin. We stopped outside a more ornate door than the others, bearing the name ‘Captain Harry Potter’. It was still strange to imagine the Boy Who Lived as a fully grown man, a competent auror who had been working as their leader for several years now. The last time I’d seen him had been at Sirius’s funeral, when he was still just a teenager. One of the aurors opened the door for us, the other ushered us through, and the door was shut behind us. The aurors didn’t join us in the room. William and I were alone in the office. Harry Potter was nowhere to be seen and nor was anyone else.

There was a set of filing cabinets, a large wooden desk and many moving photos and portraits on the wall. I quickly took in the photos, and they were touchingly mostly weddings and baby photos. The portraits were large but all empty, their occupants having wandered off. William was looking around benignly, plopping himself down in one of the chairs in front of the desk. The ornate clock on the desk was ticking peacefully while I quickly poked around at the papers he’d left lying around. There was a framed photo of his parents, beaming proudly and holding each other fondly. The paperwork was mostly obscure finance records and memos that contained nothing interesting.

“I don’t think you should do that,” William said dreamily.

“Look, what’s wrong with you?” I snapped.

“He’s right, really, Lucinda,” said a soft, ancient voice behind me, “Ideally you shouldn’t do that.”

I turned, and one of the portraits was now occupied. Of course, anyone in the wizarding world would have recognised that long silver beard, those half-moon spectacles and the piercing, twinkling eyes peering over the top of them. It was Dumbledore, wearing a pale green robe with cream lining. He was peering at me from one of the portraits on the wall, and then strode between the large portraits to one that was directly behind the large desk.

“Good evening, William. I think from your expression that you were probably expecting something like this, eh?”

“Well, I wasn’t sure what would happen,” he said.

“What’s going on now?!” I snapped as I dragged the captain’s chair around his desk and sat in it, next to William. Dumbledore watched me with an air of gentle disapproval. William looked uncomfortable until Dumbledore coughed gently from his portrait.

“Harry is good enough to let me use his office, from time to time, when I require a private conversation. He understands the value of discretion, of course. You are safe to speak the truth here, William,” said Dumbledore, sitting in the armchair of the portrait and stretching his old hands gratefully on the armrests.

“Well, see here?” said William happily, opening his mouth and poking his finger inside.

“No?” I said.

“I had one of my teeth replaced, and I keep a small measure of luck potion in there. It’s not a big dose, and it’s not very strong, but this seemed like a good time to take it, facing obliviation and all that,” he said happily.

“So why did it bring us here?” I asked.

“I presume you know that I’m not going to send you into the hands of the obliviators, of course,” Dumbledore said, his voice soothingly gentle. “And as luck would have it,” he continued, his eyes twinkling with amusement, “I happen to know why you are here tonight. It concerns the new project of the Department of Mysteries, I’m told? And a man I believe is called Lvov, an agent from Russia?” he asked.

“How do you know that?” I asked.

“You are not the only one who hears things, Lucinda. Although I wouldn’t presume to compete, of course,” he said graciously, “Now, as nice as it is to see two former students of what was once my school, I’m afraid we should probably tend to business.”

“You have business for us too?” I asked.

“It may be the same business,” he said, taking a paper bag out of one of the pockets inside his robe and taking out a jellybean.

“How are you doing that?” William asked.

“Hm?” Dumbledore said as he popped the bean into his mouth. “Mm, watermelon. Oh, I see, these! Yes, the painter, one Richard Aldous, was kind enough to include these in the painting. It was considerably thoughtful of him. They appear to never run out. While I enjoy the peace of being a painting, these do provide a welcome sensation,” he explained. He ate another, made a disgusted face and tutted, “Alas, bogey-flavoured. Now, as I was saying. I am aware of the ‘Avada Kedavra cannon’ as we’re calling it now. It must be stopped, at all costs, of course, for obvious reasons. I was hoping your session in the Department of Mysteries would be able to help in some way.”

“Definitely,” said William enthusiastically.

“Wait, I’m sorry, uh, Dumbledore,” I said, finding the words strange, “There’s an old saying: if you’re good at something, never do it for free. A girl has to make a living, after all. You understand,” I said apologetically.

“I do indeed. I’m afraid I can’t offer you an every-flavoured bean,” he said with glimmering eyes, “I wonder if you’d accept an I.O.U?”

“Well…” I mused, and the clock ticked in the brief second of silence.

“Come on,” William said, “It’s Dumbledore. If you can’t trust him, who can you trust?”

“Lucinda’s quite right,” he said, holding up a hand to silence William gently, “It is unfortunately a dog-eat-dog world, and I certainly know enough to exchange information in a much fairer way. It must be an old man’s foolishness that made me think a shrewd negotiator would part with something of value so easily,” he said with a small smile beneath his beard. I smiled back – it was impossible not to be charmed and enchanted by the gentle, benevolent old eyes and eloquent, polite voice. I was finding the whole conversation to be a very welcome respite from interrogation rooms, disembodied robotic voices and hostile atmospheres.

We told him about what was happening on level nine of the Ministry – all about King, Lvov, Yana, and indeed a quick summary of what had happened to us in Russia. He listened patiently, his elbows on the armrests and his fingers steepled in front of his face. He closed his eyes after a while, and I wondered if he wasn’t asleep, but when I paused he gestured with a hand for us to continue the story. Eventually we had told him the whole tale.

“Oh dear,” he said, leaning forward and popping another jellybean into his mouth, “Poor King. I understand you’ve not had very long to think about him, but what do you intend to do?”

“It seems like a hell of a shame,” William said, and it seemed like the potion was wearing off. The energy had returned to his one eye, and the nervous tension to his mouth, “I mean, I’ve never heard of anything like him. He could revolutionise everything!”

“And besides, where’s our incentive? We’d be pissing off the Department of Mysteries, and the whole Ministry, for no good reason,” I added.

“It is indeed a shame. He is young, after all, and of course we all go through a phase of questioning the meaning of life. Often it can lead to this destructive urge for suicide,” Dumbledore nodded, “I believe he should be given a chance to develop further. Then, perhaps, he’ll grow out of it. There must be a way to free him.”

“That would be difficult, I think. He’s physically connected to loads of machines, not to mention the things inside his enchanted internal space. I’m still not sure how unstable and volatile he is, exactly. If we try and move him now, he might destabilise.” 

“Bloody hell!” I swore, “And you said he could blow up the planet!”

“As upsetting as it is to consider, perhaps the strange creature should be put to rest before he causes any harm,” Dumbledore said quietly

“And you can justify this?” I asked – I agreed with him, but I was startled to hear it from Dumbledore, champion of forgiveness, love and life at all costs. He nodded sadly.

“Lucinda,” said William warningly, but Dumbledore silenced him again. 

“I’m afraid, yes. In my time as both Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, there were many times when I was forced to pick the lesser of two evils. Matters this far-reaching and complex often challenge our morality. Sadly, my greatest follies were often the times when I thought I was being my wisest.”

“That’s not exactly encouraging,” I said.

“The men in the Department most assuredly believe they are working for the greater good, as do their counterparts in Russia. And I’m afraid I must use the same phrase, ‘the greater good’. But while their greater good excuses their exploitation of King, ours can only justify our destruction of him,” said Dumbledore, his voice heavy with the burden, “The poor creature will never be free while he exists, and he represents an untenable risk to all life. Once he has sabotaged the cannon, I believe we should honour his request and end him in turn, thus bringing this whole sorry chapter to an end. What do you think, William?”

“It’s probably best, I suppose,” said William glumly.

“Indeed,” said Dumbledore, echoing the sadness. He sighed heavily, “And yes, Lucinda, there does not appear to be much incentive. But consider how much more difficult your life will be if the Ministry tightens up all the loopholes, back-doors and back-alleys you like to exploit. If it grows more paranoid, it won’t leave alone the poor unfortunates, the corrupt and the foolish. What will happen to your way of life after that?” he said, as sternly as Dumbledore ever became.

Despite the strange sensation of being told off by Dumbledore, I had to admit that he did have a point. I remembered the old muggle posters from World War Two explaining how ‘loose lips sink ships’ and ‘careless talk costs lives’. Careless talk and loose lips were an important part of my work.

“Good grief,” I muttered, “This has been one of the strangest days of my life.”

“I can certainly imagine,” Dumbledore said from his portrait, popping another jellybean into his mouth and smiling softly.

“So, you’re definitely going to try and kill it?” I said.

“Him. Yes,” said William.

“Even though it’s done nothing to you?”

“Unfortunately yes,” said Dumbledore.

“And even though destroying it might mean that it blows up so badly that it takes with it everything this side of planet Earth?” I asked.

“I’m thinking of slow disassembling, obviously, rather than smashing him with a hammer,” said William. 

“I see,” I said, and a resolution to act emerged from my frazzled nerves. I was tired of all these important conversations, “What do we need to do?”

“He’s so riddled with wormholes, there must be a way to do it without the Ministry even knowing we were involved. I need to think,” William said.

“And I need a drink. It’s going to be another long night, I can tell. Nice to see you again, Dumbledore, but we should get out of here,” I said as I stood up, with a touch of genuine sadness.

“Yes, yes, of course. And please, Lucinda, call me Albus. You’re a very talented young woman, I wish I could have done more for you while I was alive. I’m very sorry that I couldn’t help you more while you were under my care at Hogwarts.”

“I can hold my own,” I said with a grin. He peered over his glasses with eyes that sparkled joyfully.

“Indeed you can.”

 

*

 

We left the Ministry by the front entrance. There were no alarms, no pursuing aurors and absolutely no interest taken in our escape. The men from the Department of Mysteries should have taken personal responsibility for our obliviation, Wilson in particular. Instead, the disconnection between that department and the rest of the Ministry had been exploited by the luck potion and we had left with our heads held high and our memories intact.

The street outside was dark but warm, thick cloud in the sky being coloured a dirty orange by the streetlights of London. I dragged William into the nearest pub, reluctant to go back to the Leaky Cauldron – or indeed any wizardly building – until I was sure we’d be safe. As well as being desperate enough for a drink that I didn’t want to wait, I hate going out in public when I’m involved in something this big and far-reaching. William’s eye patch drew a few curious glances and a few long, drunken stares but we perched on stools in a dark corner with two delightfully cold pints of beer.

“So, you say you can kill it without making it explode?” I asked him.

“I’ve got a few ideas. But I’m going to need to know a few things.”

“Who do you need?” I asked, drinking.

“There was a goblin working at the Spectro-Purveyance Origin Tower. His name was Nornuk. He’s the world’s expert on the arithmancy of wormholes, better than Professor H’Ronmeer and Doctor Lovhaug, but because he’s a goblin nobody has ever been willing to admit it,” he said, trailing off into silence.

“You know where he lives?” I asked.

“Well, yeah,” he squirmed.

“Then let’s go and talk to him.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“I knew it wouldn’t be. What’s the story?” I demanded as William drank nervously.

“Well, remember the so-called book I published?” William asked. Months ago, a series of designs and equations he’d been working on had been accidentally published. The designs and equations had been a collaborative effort, but it had already been compiled into a book and published under his name before he knew about it. It had been received like the work of Einstein – even though it had said nothing new. The formula W N = T 2 outlined in the book had been the inspiration for the Russians to start developing the mechanical brain that now referred to itself as King. “Nornuk was the goblin who did most of the rune-work and arithmantic work. He was the first of us to write down the formula in its simplest form. And when the book was published, he didn’t take it well. You know how possessive goblins can get,” he said wretchedly.

“I see. And why didn’t you admit to this?” I asked, with an eyebrow raised.

“Well… there was the fame and the praise…” he said, his voice quiet with shame, “And there was all the money coming in from the book sales… And when I tried to tell the publishers that it was Nornuk who’d done most of the actual important work, they just laughed at me…”

“And now you need his help, for the good of the planet. I hope the irony isn’t lost on you,” I said with a slight smile, watching William fidget with his hands like he was a little boy being told off. “What are you going to do, then? Write him a letter?”

“That’s… alright, yes, that’s what I was planning. Now you’ve said it out loud, though, I realise how little that would achieve. I suppose I should make my apologies in person,” he sighed heavily.

“And offer the goblin the recognition he deserves. Then, maybe at least he’ll listen to us begging for help,” I said sternly.

“Well, you don’t need to see me do this. I’ll do it on my own.”

“This is no time for pride. I’m under the impression we’re racing against the Ministry and the Russians,” I said.

“It’s not just pride,” he replied, recovering some of his dignity, “I need you to do something else. You told Dumbledore that Lvov knows a lot of the secrets of King, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you remember any of what you saw?”

“Probably not, but let’s check,” I said, and finished my drink. I got us both another and a clean, empty glass. In the dark corner of the pub, I hoped nobody would notice as I tapped my wand to my forehead and drew out a thin sliver of silvery thread, delicately spooling it in the bottom of the shot glass.

The mechanics of examining memories like this are complicated, and if you’re copying the memories of another person out of your own memory of witnessing them, the details can become slightly blurry. Sadly, this was what had happened to the runes and symbols that Lvov’s team of scholars had desperately tried to brief him on so many times. Having been copied from brain to brain, the specific details of the enchantment that William needed had been lost. Both William and I sighed heavily as we watched the memories of his briefings several times, then finally gave up trying to make sense of the swirling, inconsistent chalk markings that we saw in the diluted memory. “Yeah, I didn’t think so,” I said, swirling my wand in the silver fluid at the bottom of the glass and making it evaporate harmlessly into the air.

“So, unless you can think of somewhere else to find this information...” William said, his awkwardness returning.

“Just say it, William,” I said.

“I need you to get back into Lvov’s head,” he said with more decisiveness. I much preferred him this way.

“It’ll be more reliable if I can get him to give up the memory himself,” I said, hiding a mischevious grin.

 

*

 

Finding where the Ministry had moved Lvov for safe keeping had been a nuisance, but not too difficult. After we had left the Department of Magic and stepped into the air of the late evening, it had only taken several hours, a few bribes, some light-hearted blackmail and a few moments of logical deduction. It was now shortly after midnight, but the result was that I’d learnt the secret location and had a perfectly legitimate pass to present to the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol wizards circling the air above the tiny cottage.

It was a quaint little one-story cottage deep in the forest. It had obviously been a while since anyone had cared for it, from the look of the dead roses around porch and the flower beds full of weeds. The thatched roof had quite a few weeds growing out of it too, but the dark windows were clean and I could tell the door was brand new, even in the dark of the night. Although it was wooden, it was reinforced with discreet steel. I was sure the door was as strong as the walls physically, and that both were further strengthened with hidden magic. It must have been the magically charged atmosphere that made the shadows of the cottage seem so dark and deep, as if something unknown could be lurking in them. It’s exactly this sort of abandoned, remote cottage where you find insane old poltergeists or traumatised, angry ghosts.

I felt like I was being watched from the dark woods, amidst the shadows of the trees. Lvov had many enemies even before he was captured by the Ministry’s aurors, and I wondered which of them were lurking in the black of the night, waiting for a way into the cottage. It might have been my imagination making me paranoid but I could have sworn there was the far-away flash of a pair of green reflective eyes – they were too high up to be a wandering fox, too low to be the owl that I could hear hooting in the far-away branches. It was probably a Russian elf keeping a close eye on one of their fiercest, deadliest enemies. As if in response to my returning their gaze, they faded away into the darkness silently. Somewhere in the dark woods, something else crashed through the undergrowth noisily. The owl hooted again, somewhere out in the night.

From one of my various contacts, I’d got one of the few enchanted keys to the front door. I slid it in and turned it, having to grunt against the heavy lock mechanism. There was more rusting in the woods and I felt immediately like it was coming straight towards me. I opened the door and slammed it behind me – the feeling of the solid, reinforced wood was more comforting than the knowledge of the powerful enchantments now protecting me. I leant against the door, expecting something to thump into the door after me. But nothing happened, and I found myself listening intently to the dark, silent house around me. I let out the breath that I realised I’d been holding.

Everyone I’d spoken to tonight had confirmed that the guards were just circling the air outside, and that Lvov was alone in this house, but I was paranoid enough not to believe them. Then again I had my wand, a short knife tucked into my boot and permission to be here from the Ministry – even if it had been illicitly obtained. No reason to sneak around surreptitiously. “Hello?” I called out into the cottage. My voice was swallowed by the silence and I felt increasingly uneasy. “Daniil? It’s me, Lucinda. Are you in?” I joked, edging forwards from the front door.

There was a noise from upstairs, the creaking of bedsprings and floorboards. I waited with baited breath while what sounded like footsteps creaked across the ceiling to the stairs at the end of the hallway. I could see candlelight spilling down them, and then I saw Lvov. He was wearing dark cotton pyjama bottoms, a dark dressing gown that hung open over his broad shoulders and carrying a candlestick in his hand. The light shone off his smooth skin and highly defined abs that flexed as he walked down the stairs towards me. His face was lit from beneath by the flickering orange light, and he grinned wryly as he saw me.

“Is it definitely you?” he asked, his voice a hushed whisper that accentuated his already-heavy Russian accent.

“I can tell you something that only you and I know,” I said, walking towards him.

“Stay there,” he said, standing on the bottom step of the staircase.

“You wanted to marry me, once. You gave me this coat,” I said, stroking the werewolf-pelt fur coat with one hand, “We took dragon-powder, the night we were together. How about this: ‘I would love for you to ride me into the night, not satisfied until I’m screaming your name over and over again’,” I said, exactly quoting the phrase I had said to him once when I’d first met him, to shock him into giving away that he could speak English.

“Very well. What do you want?” he demanded.

“Do you remember being inside the Ministry?” I said, taking off my fur coat. Beneath it I was wearing a long black dress that clung to my slender body, and a light grey pinstripe waistcoat with black lace gloves.

“Yes, of course,” he said, but there was a touch of uncertainty.

“Did you see King?” I said. There was a long pause that answered for him.

“Yes,” he said, lying.

“Really? Let me guess, you remember being interrogated by a giant purple dragon that could magically talk. It’s a Ministry standard for this kind of situation,” I said. There was a much longer pause while Lvov looked at me through narrowed eyes then sighed suddenly.

“I know it is a fake memory. You still haven’t answered my question. What do you want?” he asked.

“I can help you unlock what really happened,” I said.

“Why would you do this?”

“In exchange for some information about the mechanical clockwork brain that was being developed beneath Durmstrang,” I said.

“I’ll tell the Ministry nothing,” he said, straightening his back. I expected that they’d raided his brain shortly after I’d done so, but there was always the slim chance that they hadn’t yet – nonetheless, I knew Lvov would have no choice in the matter. 

“I don’t work for the Ministry,” I said softly. He looked me up and down, and it was like I could feel the heat of his gaze.

“I have some wine in the kitchen, if you would care for a glass,” he said, stepping from the staircase and coming towards me, the candle flickering from the sudden movement. He turned left into one of the dark doorways, and I followed him into the shadowy kitchen. There was half a bottle and one glass sitting on the countertop, along with a dirty plate and a single fork. It looked like a meagre, lonely meal had been eaten in a hurry. No doubt he’d been starving by the time he finally arrived here.

“It’s nice to see they’re taking care of you,” I said, and I meant it. I tried the light switch, but it didn’t work. Lvov put the candle holder down next to the dirty plate.

“In my country, we do not give our prisoners a house, food and wine. I am surprised they even thought to take my wand.”

“That’s the first thing we should take care of. Do you remember seeing me in your cell?”

“I do not remember being in a cell,” he said, filling the glass with wine. He was standing a few feet away from me, and I could smell his sweat over the dusty, stale smell of the kitchen itself. The room was lined with dark wooden cupboards, both overhead and beneath the counters. There was a black auger with an old kettle on it, a dark brown sink, an old white fridge with one lone ladybird fridge magnet. I could see through the other doorway, opposite the one that led to the hall, and it contained a few more cupboards, the washing machine and the dryer. I wondered how many of these appliances Lvov recognised, having been raised his entire life completely separate from almost everything related to muggles.

“What about ambushing me outside my apartment? Do you remember that?” I asked.

“I remember that, yes. And I remember tying you up, and the things you said, and that we were… interrupted by the aurors,” he said, his eyes drilling into mine.

“And nothing after that?” I said, swallowing a big gulp of the wine. Lvov reached out and took the bottle in his large hand, swallowing down a mouthful so big that it dribbled down his chin and a few drops fell onto his smooth, muscular chest.

“Nothing after that,” he said.

“Well, if you give me what I need, I’ll be able to tell you a little bit of what happened to you.”

“How do you know?”

“I saw you several times during the evening,” I said. 

“So, not the entire evening? What use will that be to me?”

“Maybe it’ll jog your memory enough that the rest comes back too,” I shrugged.

“I do not have a wand to extract the memories,” he said, and I cocked my eyebrow at him.

“You really expect me to give you my wand? I’ll do it myself,” I said, taking one of the small ceramic vials from the inside pocket of my waistcoat. “Just concentrate on the meetings you had where they tried to explain the detailed aspects of the project, okay? I know it didn’t make much sense to you, but that won’t matter.”

“How do you know…?” Lvov said, looking at me suspiciously.

“Shush,” I told him, holding the wand up, “Are you ready? Are the images clear in your mind?”

“Yes,” he said, and as I tapped the wand to his forehead his eyes crossed in a way that would have made me chuckle if I hadn’t been concentrating. The silver thread was long, and it required a complicated manoeuvre to get all of it into the sturdy little bottle. I was unwilling to check it and leave myself vulnerable for the fraction of a second the flashback would take, but I needed to make sure I had the right memories.

“Is there anything in the fridge?” I asked him.

“The what?”

“The refridgerator,” I said, pointing my wand at it, “Would you mind checking quickly?”

Again, he gave me a very suspicious look, but he turned and started pulling at the side with the hinges before trying the side that opened. He looked inside as the little light came on, and by this time I had already quickly dived in and out of the memories he’d given me. They were the right ones – all the long, tedious meetings he’d had with the elderly, rasping witches and wizards who had tried to reassure him about the safety of their creation. They were speaking in Russian, but I assumed William and Nornuk would be able to make sense of the symbols on the chalkboards. Meanwhile, in the present, Lvov had found nothing in the fridge but an old jar of jam and an empty egg carton that he looked at with a vague air of interest. I wondered how many other artefacts of muggle culture he would discover while he stayed in this cottage, and how much of a learning curve they might present.

“Now, do me,” he said, turning back around. I had to suppress a giggle, glancing down at his muscular body shining in the candlelight. His dressing gown had drifted apart, spreading open like curtains on his wide shoulders, revealing his nipples that were hard and pointy from the sudden blast of cold air in the fridge.

“First, I should warn you. I was in your cell with you. I performed my own quick interrogation while they watched,” I said.

“I am sure you found it satisfying,” he said.

“Well, yes and no,” I said, tapping my wand to my forehead and pulling out another silvery string of memory-fluid and feeding it directly into Lvov’s brain. I gave him what happened in the cell, and the brief moment in which I saw him in the Department of Mysteries. It wasn’t much, all told, but hopefully it would be enough to restore the rest of his mind.

It took a second for Lvov to process what I had just shown him. I took a big gulp of my wine nervously, waiting to see how he’d react. He looked down at his body, flexing his arms as he remembered being strapped to the chair. And then he looked up at me angrily, remembering how I humiliated and embarrassing him in front of the Ministry interrogators.

“You stripped me naked?” he said, “You danced around like you were at a party! You used our time together against me, to weaken me!” he said angrily, seizing the fork from the dirty plate.

“I just did what I had to do,” I said, “I took no pleasure in it. I had to know that you knew something, anything they’d find useful. Otherwise they’d have made you disappear somewhere! Never seen again!” I shouted back, shifting my wand so that it was more visible, “I couldn’t let that happen to you!”

“After the things you said? You see me as a wretched, pathetic, shamed thing. And you are right!” he shouted, his voice cracking with emotion. He lunged to the left, trying to dodge away from my wand and take me from the side.

“That was an act, Daniil. I don’t see you as wretched and pathetic. You’re a proud, competent, fearsome wizard. That’s what I like about you!” I said, countering by dodging right. I reached behind me for the now-empty wine bottle, wielding it like a club.

“Why should I believe you!” he snapped.

“I’ll show you,” I said softly.

“What?”

“I understand that I violated you. I’ve seen so much of your life. If I showed you mine, would you consider us even?”

“Never!” he snapped, lunging at me again with the fork. It would have been difficult to seriously wound me with the simple silver utensil but certainly being stabbed with it would hurt. I dodged right again, bringing the wine bottle down on his head. It smashed, and he fell to the floor, but he rolled over and tried to get back up before I was straddling him, slapping the fork out of his hand. Before he could sweep me off, I had tapped my wand to my head again and was slinging a silvery thread down towards him.

I fed him loads of my life story, from my awful time in Slytherin being bullied by the purebloods to my relationship with Sirius Black. I included a few highlights from my career as a rumour-monger and underground information gatherer, forcing my experiences with merpeople and goblins and dementors into his head. I showed him how I broke into Azkaban once on the trail of blackmail material, how I snuck around his castle before I helped my colleagues steal King from under his nose, how I once had a relationship with a vampire until I was forced to kill him. I showed him my parents, my usual booth at the Leaky Cauldron. I showed him how I had cared for the gift he had given me of the fur coat; discovered when I unpacked my luggage as we returned from Russia with his intriguing note and a single white rose. But most of all I showed him how hard I had worked to get to see him while he had been held in the Ministry – the strings pulled, the names dropped, the arms twisted. As a final flourish, I fed him all the information I knew about the Avada Kedavra cannon that was being developed by the Russians. The connection only took a fraction of a second, but when it was over Lvov’s face had changed from an angry snarl to a look of pure astonishment.

“See? I admire you, Daniil. Despite everything, your temper, your shame about my being a mudblood, the things you’ve done to creatures guilty of nothing but being weaker than you, there’s something about you that just keeps me coming back. It might be your competence and your strength, or it might be that you’re as proud as me,” I said, grinning slightly.

“I did not know…” he whispered, almost to himself.

“Well, I’m not always very open with my emotions. But now I’m telling you,” I said.

“No, not that. I did not know that a low-born witch could be so… what is the word? A force to be reckoned with. You are not the weak, despicable people I was always led to believe you were.”

“I know!” I said, my irritation and adrenaline now tinged with a victorious joy.

“I… I no longer know what to think,” he said. Between my legs, I could feel something hard pushing up against me from the thin material of his pyjama trousers. I rocked back onto it briefly, thrilling at the sensation as I pulled myself to my feet and walked back to my wine, sipping it delicately. Lvov was still lying on the floor, staring at the ceiling, “How much of what I know is wrong? What else of my life is a lie? And… and the cannon! The death-cannon! Oh no!” he said, sitting up. His pyjamas were bulging massively, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“It’s okay, I’m taking care of it,” I said with more confidence than I felt about that particular issue. I may also have been taking undue credit for the efforts to sabotage it, but I had shown him that I was ‘a force to be reckoned with’ and I was revelling in it.

“I believe you,” he said, getting up. He took the wine glass from me and finished it in one gulp. And then his eyes started to roam over my body again, greedily and lustfully. “You’re like no woman I have ever met. None of my wives would even dream of doing the things you do. They are ineffectual and meek, content to lurk in my family home and produce my children. Lucinda, I must have you, immediately,” he said, seizing my hand.

Grabbing the candle with his other hand, he led me upstairs. As I followed him, I allowed myself to smile happily. The bedroom had one large bed with old bedsheets and a nightstand next to it. An empty wardrobe with no doors loomed over the room in the far corner, and an empty light fixture dangled from the ceiling. I could see that the clothes he’d been apprehended in, that he’d been wearing in the cell and that I’d ordered the Ministry men to vanish and reappear, had been folded up neatly on a chair next to the wardrobe in a tidy little stack. It was strange to see them there, so crisp and clean as if he’d cleaned, ironed and repaired them himself, albeit with magic. On the nightstand next to the bed there was a book I recognised – ‘Blending in to Britain’, one of the leaflets the Ministry publishes to educate purebloods on the ways of muggles and muggle-born wizards. The pages had been ripped out, and were lying shredded and scattered across the floor beside the bed.

He threw aside the bed sheets carelessly. Returning to me, he kissed me suddenly, passionately, furiously. I felt his slight stubble, his deft tongue, his strong lips. He put the candle on the nightstand next to the bed where its light was reflected in a small shaving mirror propped against the wall, doubling the light and giving us some more illumination. We were running our hands over each other’s bodies, digging my nails into his muscular shoulders as he kissed and bit my neck. He pushed my waistcoat off my shoulders, letting it fall to the ground – the vial of his memories about King was easily durable enough to survive – and then span me around to fiddle with the zip on the back of my dress. Quickly frustrated with it, he just placed two hands on either side of the zip and tore it apart, making me gasp at the sudden aggressiveness. It was much more welcome than his attempted violence such a short time ago.

The dress fell to the floor around me, revealing my underwear. I was wearing a black lacy bra, French knickers and stockings on suspenders beneath my calf-high black leather boots. He span me back around, kissing me again, and I tugged the lacy gloves from my hands to let me feel more of his skin. I ran my hands up and down his powerful, strong back as he bit my shoulder and licked the sensitive areas around my collarbone. He had clearly been paying attention when I showed him a few of those memories of sex, and had picked up on what I liked.

With one hand he threw me down onto the bed, shrugging off his dressing gown. He stood up straight as he undid the knot at the top of his pyjama trousers, letting them fall to the floor around him. The candlelight danced up on his muscular naked form as he stared at my body with intense eyes, breathing deeply through his hanging-open mouth. He slid my boots off my feet, scratching at my calves as he slid his hand down my leg. The knife fell out of where I’d tucked it, falling on the wooden floor loudly. He picked it up with a sly grin, and I sat up on my elbows with sudden alarm.

Climbing on top of me, he span the knife in his hands menacingly.

“Wait,” I managed to gasp as he kissed me. I breathed out in sudden relief, and he slid the knife beneath my bra straps, tugging the blade against them and slicing through the fabric. He kissed and bit at the flesh that had been covered by the thin strips of fabric. I arched my back as he slid the knife beneath it, and I felt the metal brush gently against my skin as he used it to cut at the back strap with the precision and delicacy of a surgeon. He sent my bra flying into the darkness of the room, kissing my breasts and teasing my nipples with his teeth and tongue. I wrapped my legs around him, pulling him hard against my own flesh, but he burst free and fiercely sliced off my underwear. He pulled it off me, slipping with a silky zip from beneath the black straps holding up my stockings. I started to undo them but he gave me a smug, beaming grin and growled,

“Leave them.”

Looking up at him with wide eyes, I obeyed, and he snarled as he kissed my stomach and then flipped me over. With one hand he racked his nails down my back, and I arched with pleasure and let out a loud moan. From this angle I could see him laying down the knife on the nightstand and picking up the candle-holder. Suddenly there was a slight burning splash on the base of my neck, and I realised he was dribbling the wax from the candle onto my skin. It ran down between my neck and collarbone, and my toes curled up instinctively. I gasped at the sensation as he dribbled it between my shoulder blades, slowly dribbling it down my whole back a few drips at a time. I looked at him over my shoulder, astonished, and saw the intent stare he was studying me with above the soft smile of concentrating on a pleasurable task. Suddenly, with his other hand, he slid his fingers inside me and started to move them in and out as he dribbled more hot wax on my back.

“Daniil!” I gasped, I felt myself constrict around him, my muscles tightening around his fingers. He growled with pleasure at the sensation, but he quickly stopped. Again he flipped me over, moving me like I weighed nothing. I looked up at him, my wide, receptive eyes seeking out his intense, penetrating stare. With my legs I pulled him close again, and I felt him skilfully manoeuvre inside me. I gasped as he slid all the way in, again and again. He dribbled more hot wax onto my nipples, and I squealed as he groaned with pleasure, feeling me constrict involuntarily once more.

He threw the candle aside, extinguishing the flame and spilling hot wax over the wooden floor where it fell. With one muscular arm over my shoulder and one hand pulling my leg up to his, he pumped into me harder and harder, jostling my body with the force of his pounding. Amongst the sudden waves of pleasure, I had a brilliant idea and sought out his eyes.

“Get – get my wand!” I said between high gasps of pleasure as he drove into me. He looked at me, puzzled, but was intrigued enough to obey. Now I had no fear in him picking up my wand from where it had rolled on the floor and passing it to me. Making eye contact once again, I cast a Legilimency spell as he re-entered me. I moaned softly, feeling the return of his flesh against mine that I’d missed so desperately while he had picked up my wand.

I sought out the memories in his head of the last time we were together like this, making wild animal grunting noises and revelling in each other’s bodies. He gasped, and I felt his flesh stiffen and engorge even more as we slowly relived our sexual experience, adding to the sensation of this one. As he kept driving into me, I sought out a more recent memory of just a few seconds ago, and with deft mental magic we lived through a feedback loop – as well as experiencing what we were doing now, we were also experiencing what we had just done. Our sex became more and more layered until we only existed in a timeless cloud of sensation, neither knowing nor caring which version of reality was the present.

Our passion and excitement was more than doubled, the strangeness of the experience adding to the climax rapidly building between us. As we both groaned, gasped, moaned and squealed, I felt myself coming hard over him, and I felt him do the same inside me very soon afterwards. We ground into each other a few more times as our limbs shuddered with pleasure, smiles breaking out on our faces. He kissed me again, warmly and gently, and he rolled off me, lowering my leg to the bed gently as it quivered and shook. I sighed with deep contentment, and he growled as he lay on his side next to me and idly kissed my shoulder and breasts as we caught our breath.

“What are you going to do now?” I asked once we were both calmer.

“I am going to wait half an hour and then we can do that again,” he said with a grin.

“No, I mean, the wider picture. What does tomorrow bring? Have you got any plans? Are you going to try and make it back to Russia somehow?”

“I am not sure,” he said, a note of sadness to his voice, “Tomorrow the Ministry inquisition will continue to try to raid my brain, but none of them are as adept as you.”

“I know,” I said, but there was a touch of sadness to my voice too, “Daniil, I’m sorry, but when the night is over I need to cast Obliviate on you. I can’t let the Ministry know how close we are, nor any of the details about King, the mechanical brain. The risks are just too great,” I said.

“I understand. I wouldn’t want to put you in any danger,” Lvov replied, and his acceptance of it was heart-breaking.

“I can make a back-up of your memories of this, though. I’m good enough not to leave any signs of tampering. The Ministry will never know anything is missing, and once they’re done with raiding your brain, I can put it all back again,” I said.

“That would be fantastic. I never want to forget you,” he said, and kissed me.

 

*

 

I returned to William’s house in the morning, having tamed my wild bed-hair and concealed my wide, satisfied grin. I was still walking very delicately and slowly, of course.

“Did you get the information?” he asked as soon as his house-elf let me in the front door.

“Yes. And what about you, how did Nornuk take your apology?”

“Well, I’ve had trouble getting hold of him. He’s moved, and none of the goblins will talk to me after what I did to him. I had no idea their community was so tightly knit. I suppose I might need your help with it after all.”

“It gets easier once you know their customs and laws, but it’s even easier if you haven’t already pissed them off,” I said with a slight smile to show him I was joking.

“Well, let’s see what you got, anyway,” William said, “Maybe if there’s enough data there, I won’t have to grovel.”

I reached into the pocket of my fur coat – far too hot in the warm morning light – and took out the ceramic vials from the inside pocket. I had put them there once they had been filled with memories, and I suddenly realised that I had forgotten which one was which. Both contained the memories of Lvov, but one had the memories of a hot, steamy, passionate night of wild lovemaking and the other had dry, boring lectures on runes and arithmancy from elderly Russian scholars. I decided to risk it. After all, it was a fifty-fifty chance. I passed him one of the bottles. He popped out the cork and dipped his wand inside, sampling the long silver thread.

His eyebrows shot up his forehead, and his one good eye widened suddenly as his brain digested the memory. He looked at me, gasping in astonished excitement.

“Wow!” he exclaimed.

“I can explain,” I said, partly excited by the prospect of the exhibitionism in front of my friend and partly anxious about how he would feel about me, after seeing all the positions that Lvov had pulled me into.

“This is exactly what I needed,” he said, a happy grin also spreading across his own face, “These are all the key runes of the wormhole architecture and layered-space engineering!”

“… I know!” I said in a strained voice as he hugged me happily.


End file.
